


Six Feet Apart

by Lizzy0305



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dragon Pox (Harry Potter), Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mutual Pining, Professor Potter, Quarantine, Romance, Sexual Tension, Three Word Challenge, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29462724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzy0305/pseuds/Lizzy0305
Summary: Valentine’s Day is approaching, so Ron and Hermione set up a blind date for Harry, however a little mishap happens. In the meanwhile, Dragon Pox rears its ugly head in Hogwarts and the castle gets quarantined meaning no one is allowed within six feet of the other. Just how long can Harry keep that social distance, when all he wants is to get closer to Snape.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Comments: 112
Kudos: 147





	1. Blind Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SassyDKitten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyDKitten/gifts), [sheankelor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheankelor/gifts).



> _(Late as always, but) Happy Valentine's Day my Lovelies!  
>  Got you all a shiny new story, something fun for these dull winter days!  
> This one is a late (very laaaaate) gift for SassyDKitten who asked me to write a blind date story, which I wanted to combine with some quarantine time. We had a little chat, she gave me three words (damn auto correct, Valentine's, unbelievable) and I set to writing. This was last March. Nearly a year later, I almost even managed to finish the story. For that I owe thanks to Sheankelor, who (as always) inspired me to go on.  
> The story is almost done, will be about 6-7 chapters long. Updates will be weekly.  
> Hope you'll have fun with this one, too!  
> Love you all!_

# 

# Chapter One: Blind Date 

“Oh, this should be fun.”

“Remember, Ron, we’re not doing this for your entertainment, but for Harry’s happiness.”

“Yeah, all right, I’ll try to keep that in mind,” said Ron as he sat down to the table with a parchment. He looked up at his girlfriend expectantly. “So, what do I write?” he asked after a moment when no further instructions came.

Hermione just raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, I don’t know. You’re the man. What would you write if you wanted to ask me out?”

“Hermione, I appreciate your trust but I don’t think what I would write to you, would be good enough here. We’re trying to get _Snape_ to agree to a date with us, after all.”

“It’s not with us, Ron, it’s with Harry.”

“Oh, it’s _us_ , Hermione. I’m emotionally invested in this now.”

She couldn’t help herself and laughed. “If it’s good for me, it ought to be good for him too. So, get to writing.”

Ron took his Spell-checking quill in hand, stroked his chin with the end for a moment, then put it down to the paper and started writing.

_**Dear Professor Snape,** _

_**I think you are really hot and clever. I really like you.** _

_**Would you like to have dinner with me this Saturday at the Three Broomsticks? Maybe seven?** _

_**Please circle your answer:** _

_**Yes / Yes, but let’s skip dinner** _

_**Always yours (if you want it),** _

_**Harry** _

Satisfied, he gave it another check, then handed the letter to Hermione.

Her eyes scanned the paper and he could see her lips tugging, but the next moment Hermione smacked him round the head with the rolled up parchment.

“Take this seriously, will you?” She snapped, but then the laughter finally broke out of her. “Can you imagine though, if we sent him this?” She giggled. “He would never speak to Harry again. Ever.”

Ron laughed too. “Oh, he would. He would shout _Avada_ at him the second he saw him.”

Mortified by that prospect, they both quieted, then Hermione sat down, too, on the other side of the table. “This is good, though, isn’t it, what we’re trying to do?” She asked, uncertain now suddenly. “You don’t think… I mean…”

“Hermione,” Ron said with all seriousness he could muster. “Who could resist a letter like this?”

“Ron! I’m serious!”

“All right, all right, sorry,” he said bashfully and reached across the table to take her hand. “Look, ‘Mione, we both know Harry’s in love with that git right? And we both know, this is a secret he will carry to his grave, right?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“And we both know it makes him absolutely miserable. I mean look at the man for Merlin’s sake. I bet he only took the Defence job to be nearer to Snape.”

“You know that’s not true,” Hermione answered reproachfully. “Harry adores teaching.”

“I know, I know” Ron sighed in all seriousness. “But the fact remains. He needs to get over this, Hermione. If Snape says no, he can move on. If he says yes… well, then they get to figure out the next step. It’s that simple.”

“All right, you’re right. This needs to happen.” She said, trying to convince herself as well.

“We’ll just give them a little nudge.” Ron nodded sagely.

“We have to make it sound less a date and more a… reconciliation.”

“They work together, Hermione. They meet every day.”

“And you heard about those meetings, Ron. They don’t really talk, just bark at each other from the other side of the room.”

Ron took an empty parchment and rolled it out. He kept tapping it with the end of the quill while he thought what to write. “What do you reckon he likes about him?” He asked quietly from Hermione, who just shrugged.

“I tried asking what he thinks of him the other day, but he just went on and on with how much he loathes the man. Then Snape swept past us, and he literally couldn’t take his eyes off him. I swear, Ron, he even smelled the air after Snape.”

“Hey, why’s that weird?” Ron asked, blushing. “I mean… when the other person smells really nice... You just…” His words faded.

“It’s not weird.” She gave him a bright smile, then returned to the topic at hand. “I know he thinks him brave, because I heard his speech about the articles that pop up and call Professor Snape a coward.”

“Oh yeah, I heard one of those, too. He set the Prophet on fire.”

“This could be something we could include in the letter,” she mused aloud.

Once more, Ron put his quill down onto the parchment and started writing.

_**Sir,** _

_**I know, you probably don’t want to see me more than you need to. And I understand that. It’s not like we’ve been best of friends during the earlier years, but I like to believe that since the war ended a lot has changed.** _

_**I think you are very brave in truth, and admire your perseverance all throughout the years. Your courage allowed us to win and I wish I had seen earlier what I see now: what a great man you are.** _

_**I know you probably think I’m just joking or this is all a set up, but it’s not. I would very much like to prove to you just how serious I am, if you could just join me for a drink at the Three Broomstick this Saturday.** _

_**There is no need to send an answer. I will be there from about seven, having dinner. If you feel like it, please join me. If not, I will not bother you ever again.** _

_**Yours,** _

_**Harry Potter** _

Ron watched Hermione as she read the letter. Her eyes scanned line after line and she was nodding slightly as her pretty lips formed the words.

“Ron,” she said at last, lowering the parchment. “This is brilliant!”

“Well, thanks,” he grinned proudly. “I’m not a lost cause in romance after all.”

“No, you’re not!” The girl said with evident awe in her voice. “This is polite enough, but you can still hear Harry in the words. It sounds genuine and kind. You leave the decision how to take this entirely up to Snape; this can mean an amiable drink, a friendly dinner or even a romantic date. This is great, Ron!”

“All right, I’ll get Pig.” Ron said with a grin, then went out from the kitchen.

Pigwidgeon was in the living room. His cage stood by the window that looked towards London's skyline. Now the evening lights shone brightly on top of the office buildings, and street lamps. Although their neighbourhood was far from the bustling city centre, they still got a nice view.

Ron softly called out for the little owl, and when he didn’t wake up to the sound, he stroked Pig’s back gently. The bird lifted his head from under his wing, chirped sleepily then looked at his owner, blinking rapidly.

“I’ve got a very important job for you, Pig.” He said and almost immediately, the little bird zoomed out of the cage and started chirruping excitedly.

“All right, all right, come on, then,” Ron called as he held his hand out for the bird to perch on.

He went back to the kitchen, where Hermione was ready with the rolled up parchment. She wasn’t alone however, Hedwig sat on the table next to her, eating a dead mouse.

They tied the letter to Pig’s small feet, then the next moment the bird was out of the window, flying away, nothing more than a little point on the dark sky.

Ron turned towards the big white snow owl. “Hello Hedwig. Did you bring something from Harry?” He petted her and she chirped pleased.

“Yeah, Harry keeps asking whom he’s supposed to be meeting on Saturday,” Hermione said, eyeing with disgust the pieces of rodent on the kitchen table. Once Hedwig was preoccupied with the piece of flesh in her beak, Hermione quickly cleared away the mess on the table with a flick of her wand.

Hedwig seemed affronted that the rest of her dinner was vanished so she hooted loudly then the next moment she was out the window.

“I think she meant to eat all that.” Ron grinned after the indignantly hooting owl. “And ignore Harry. He’ll be delighted to see Snape anyway.”

“Well, I hope you’re right.” Hermione said, looking out the window.

Ron knew she was thinking of Pig and of all the ways this could go wrong. However, this was a solid plan. Nothing embarrassing, just a friendly drink, unless Harry and Snape wanted more. And the fact it was Valentine’s Day on Saturday, surely wouldn’t mean anything to two bachelors like them.

He pulled Hermione from the chair and with a gentle touch on her jaw, he lifted her head up a little as he kissed her slowly.

“It will be fine,” He said then smiled as he pulled away. “And even if it’s not, we can still show Snape the first letter.”

Hermione giggled and relaxed in his arms as he kissed her gently again, before he lifted her on top of the table. She looked around.

“I think I vanished it with the rest of the mouse.”

“I think I can come up with something similar.” Ron noted while his hands roamed the inner side of her bare thighs just at the edge of her skirt.

“I’m sure you ca- _mm_ …” She gasped when his hand slipped further up.

Ron grinned against her neck. “Time to think about what _we’ll_ be doing this Saturday.”

“This.” Hermione sighed deeply. “We’ll be doing _this_.”

o.O.o

Harry stood in front of the mirror doing some last-minute checks on himself. It’s not like he was wearing anything fancy, the green jumper and black jeans were as casual attire as one could expect to have in an establishment like the Three Broomstick. His hair still stuck up in every direction, his glasses still sat snugly on his nose and his eyes still glinted greenly in the candlelight. The last five years since the war have not left him completely unchanged, however.

He matured slightly, if not in mind, then at least in his features. Thick, but short beard covered his chin and a couple wrinkles showed up in the middle of his forehead. The ones around his eyes bothered him less. They were the signs of merriment and laughter and that never troubled Harry.

He tried an optimistic smile and observed the man in the mirror. He looked decent, but slightly worried as well. No wonder, blind dates were something Harry dreaded for a reason.

He trusted Ron and Hermione to not introduce him to someone who was a complete arsehole, but the problem was, Harry didn’t really want to meet anyone. He had his eyes on someone, whose identity was a secret even from his best friends:

Snape.

“Shit.” Harry murmured under his breath and walked away from the mirror.

He put on his shoes and grabbed his long black cloak from the hook next to the door then left his chamber. He strode across the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, candles going dark at his wake. As he stepped out onto the dreary corridor, he warded the door with a flick of his wand, then he headed towards the main entrance of the castle.

He had been teaching at Hogwarts for a little more than two and a half years. It had been a rather easy decision to leave the Aurors after two years since he had realized neither bureaucracy nor mindless violence was what he wanted to do during the rest of his life. Voldermort was enough. The next part however, figuring out what else to do then was one of the hardest decisions Harry had to make in his entire existence. Thankfully, it was solved on a breezy summer afternoon when he was having a cup of tea with Minerva in a little cottage on the Scottish Highlands. She mentioned the job and within ten minutes, Harry was ready with an application letter that he sent to the Headmaster, with little to no hope of ever getting an answer.

An answer came and Harry went to Hogwarts for an interview the next Monday. He thought it would be an absolute catastrophe, having to convince Severus Snape why he would be an excellent addition to the staff. He wasn’t wrong. Snape was a bastard recalling youthful mishaps and rule-breakings, mentioning night strolls and a complete disregard of authoritative figures. For a while, Harry sat and listened quietly, then after about ten minutes of abuse, he found himself talking back once again. His interview ended with him storming out of the Headmaster’s office while Snape was throwing an expensive looking gadget at him.

And yet, a week later, a letter arrived congratulating him on his new job as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor in Europe’s most prestigious wizarding school.

Whenever his obsession with Snape turned to absolute, undeniable, heart-quenching, knee-buckling, stomach-churning desire he wasn’t sure. Probably during that interview.

He simply couldn’t explain it. Not to anyone, and especially not to himself, which is why he kept it a secret. But as months in Hogwarts went by, and he had to sit near Snape every morning during breakfast, he had to realize that he was in love with the man. Head over heels in love with a vicious evil git, who did not say a single kind word to him all his life.

Harry started to suspect he had masochistic tendencies somewhere during the end of his first year. By the start of the second, he knew it and by now, in the middle of his third year here, he knew with absolute certainty that he lived and died for those short minutes of wild arguments that happened nearly every time he had to interact with Severus Snape.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter,” came a cool drawl from behind him and a shiver went down the line of his column that felt like a cube of ice sliding on his skin on a heated summer day. He repressed a whimper and slowed his steps so that the other man could catch up.

“Ah, Professor Snape,” Harry smiled knowing it would annoy the hell out of the wizard. “You decided to fly out of your little cave, have you?”

Hands clasped behind his back Snape moved closer. He seemed to shift in the darkness, almost fly. Harry was envious of the way he moved. It was intimidating just to look at him. He had a weird, twisted smile on his lips, Harry noticed once the man was close enough.

“Why, yes, I felt like having a drink tonight,” he admitted. “At the Three Broomsticks.”

Harry almost fell over his own legs. Snape didn’t bother waiting for him, so pulled himself together and rushed after him.

While the idea made his heart beat a million times faster, he knew of course that he wasn’t meeting Snape tonight. Hermione was a powerful witch, but he doubted even she could pull off such a miracle.

Then again, he was to meet a stranger in a pub and he would rather not have Snape witness the incident. Who knows how it would end… Then, another, even worse idea came to him.

“Hold on, don’t tell me you have a… a _date_?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Snape sneered, but did not elaborate further. “And yourself? Has it been too long since you had your admirers fawn over you? Needed a little… rush of excitement in these cold days?” Snape asked with a dark tone.

Harry refused to acknowledge that tone but since it went straight to his groin he failed miserably.

“Ron and Hermione set me up on a blind date.”

“A _blind_ date?” He repeated with glee. “Don’t tell me you’re that desperate.”

“I’m not desperate. They told me to meet this guy, but they didn’t tell me who it was so I can’t come up with a reason in advance why I don’t like him.”

“That choosy are we, Mr Potter?” He said with absolute delight in his voice. “And if I may ask, how will you know this mysterious Prince Charming of yours?”

“Well, first of all, he’ll have Ron and Hermione’s letter. And I guess it will be the first bloke who sits down next to me to have a drink.”

“A drink,” Snape echoed, his glimmering eyes strictly on the road ahead of them. “Is that all you want out of tonight?”

Harry choked on cold air for a moment, then spluttered. “What else would I want, Professor Snape?” He asked the man’s profile. Snape seemed to have a smirk tugging on his lips but he refused to look at Harry. “Besides, I don’t even know who it will be.”

“So, let me get this straight. You allowed your friends to send out a letter in your name to a random wizard to join you tonight.”

“Correct.”

“Do you even know what’s in the letter, Potter?”

“No.” Harry admitted. “Though I assume, the date and place are mentioned.”

“Oh, but this is hilarious. I always knew you to be a gullible fool, but to have it proven and witness it with my own two eyes. How remarkable.”

“I’m not gullible,” Harry said. “I do have faith in my friends, though. They do want the best for me, even if it’s… a little bit annoying at times. They wouldn’t write anything in that letter that’s not true.”

Snape laughed. It was a strange sound, more of a mix of a chuckle and a surprised “Ah,” than an actual heart-felt laughter. “Just how well do your friends know you, Mr. Potter?”

They stopped at the gates of Hogwarts and there was a cold February wind around them. Snow swirled in the air and Harry looked Snape dead in the eyes. “They know me better than I know myself.” He said seriously. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have someplace better to be.”

He stepped out of the gates and apparated.

o.O.o

Hagrid was there in the Three Broomsticks as well, Harry patted him on the elbow and they had a couple words while Harry waited for his glass of wine. Once Rosmerta handed him the drink with a little wink, Harry went around the noisy pub to look for an empty table. He was lucky and found one in a distinct, dark corner. He sat down and waited, sipping the wine and eyeing the patrons.

Ron and Hermione told him, he might need to wait a while for his date (if he came at all). It was seven o’clock so Harry decided to enjoy his drink for now and order something to eat a little later on.

He was eyeing the menu, his glass almost empty, when suddenly someone appeared over the table. Apprehensively, he looked up.

“You look miserable here on your own. Where’s that lovely date of yours? Late, is he?” Snape asked with a derisive sneer. He was holding two glasses of wine. He placed one in front of Harry and vanished the empty glass from the table. Then he sat down.

“Hey, you can’t just… I’m meeting…” Harry flared then realization downed and he understood the actual situation. He was about to spend Valentine’s Day evening drinking with Snape himself.

Screw the blind date. Screw Ron and Hermione.

He eyed Snape for a long moment, who just watched him in return with a raised eyebrow, then Harry took the glass of wine and lifted it. “Happy Valentine’s Day then,” he said and to his surprise, Snape's lips quirked a little as they toasted.

“To love and all that nonsense,” Snape sneered.

Harry took a sip, then placed his glass back on the table.

“You don’t believe in love?” He asked.

“Obviously not. It’s a chemical reaction in the brain, nothing more.” Snape didn’t look at him as he talked, but watched the crowd around contemptuously. “Look at them all, Potter.” He indicated the couples at the nearby tables. “They are in love or so they believe. It is nothing more than desire and once that’s gone, they are stuck with a dim-witted creature till the rest of their lives.”

“That’s the holiday spirit,” Harry grinned. “Aren’t you just a bright little cherub.”

Snape looked at him ready to murder. “I’m serious. They are all idiots. Don’t tell me you think otherwise. I already believe you a greater fool than all these people together.”

“Oh no, I think love’s misery,” Harry said grimly given the love of his life was sitting right in front of him with an absolute zero chance that he felt the same way as Harry.

“Good,” Snape noted but eyed him suspiciously. “Now, desire that’s a completely different thing.”

Harry coughed, then took a sip, trying to hide his blush. “Yeah…” he agreed wisely.

“Lust is simple. You want someone. You bed them. End of story. There is no need for flowers and dinners and all this… unnecessary _frill_.”

“What a fucking romantic you are, Snape,” Harry said realizing he might need something a lot stronger than wine for a conversation like this.

“It’s one of my many charms,” Snape admitted, then added darkly, “among other things.”

“What things?” Harry asked before he could think. He probably would have asked even if he had a moment to think. Severus Snape’s talents were something he was in fact rather interested in.

Snape smirked. He looked Harry dead in the eyes and smirked. He bit his lower lip, the motion didn’t last longer than a second, but it didn’t elude Harry’s attention. Suddenly, he caught himself leaning closer to the man.

Snape mirrored the motion. He put his elbows on the table and leaned on them. His thumb was slowly stroking the stem of the wineglass. Harry felt it on his cock.

He shifted in his seat. “So what are you good at again? Besides dark magic and potions, that is?” He asked all but breathlessly.

Snape tittered lightly. “Really, Potter. We’ve known each other for what, twelve years now and you still think all my talents revolve around magic?”

“And intimidating people,” Harry added thinking of his youth. “And-“

He couldn’t finish the sentence. Suddenly there was a leg shifting against his. _Snape’s_ leg.

His eyes went wide. “Fuck,” he grunted suddenly breathless.

“That, too.” Snape smirked. “I’m also rather good at persuading people to do what I would like them to do.”

Harry gulped. He didn’t dare move in the last minute, that leg against him, though could be entirely just an accident, had paralyzed him completely.

“Like what?” He heard himself asking. He had to pull himself together at least a bit. He took a sip of wine and felt it fill him with all that well-needed liquid courage. He shifted his leg just slightly, and saw in response, Snape’s lips twitch. “What would you make me do for example?” He asked quietly.

Black eyes watched him intently and Harry felt a sudden heat pool into his stomach. That look alone was enough to make him half-hard under the table.

_Tell me to kneel in front of you,_ Harry begged in his head _. Tell me to undress, to part my legs, to take you to my chamber. I’ll do it. Anything. Just fucking say the word._

“What a dangerous thing to ask, Mr. Potter.” Snape drawled. He circled his forefinger around the rim of his glass, then grabbed it and took a small sip while not taking his eyes off Harry for even a moment.

“Why would it be dangerous?” Harry asked with a brave smile. “As it turns out you’re a decent man who fought alongside me during a terrible war.”

“Oh really?” Snape smiled and indeed that smile promised certain dangers Harry was all too ready to experience. “Decent, am I?”

“Aren’t you?”

“Oh, I am but a wicked man.”

“Wicked good or wicked bad?”

“Depends what we’re talking about, Mr. Potter.”

Harry felt his heart drum against his ribcage. He was holding his glass with such a harsh grasp the tension almost broke it. Snape finished his own wine in the meanwhile.

“This place is getting awfully crowded and your date is awfully late,” Snape noted stroking his lower lip.

“My date?” Harry asked who had completely forgotten that was why he was here. “Oh yeah, he’s not coming.”

“Why then… Shall we move this conversation to somewhere more… private?”

Harry groaned, audibly. “You think that’s a good idea?”

“You don’t?” Snape asked. “Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

Harry laughed. “Scared. Yeah, that’s not really what I am right now.”

“Shall we then?” Snape asked and Harry downed his drink.

Before the Headmaster could stand up however, a hand descended on his shoulder, that had the whole man stiffen as if he’d been cursed. Given who stood over them, Harry wouldn’t even be surprised if that was the case.


	2. Social Distance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Hey there my Lovelies!  
>  Thank you all for the wonderful comments. It was great to see you're all intrigued already. Well, without further ado, let's find out, who'll you all want to kill for disturbing Harry and Severus during their entirely accidental date._

# Chapter Two: Social Distance 

“Snape, it’s been ages, lovely meeting you, but get your arse away from my godson, I need to talk to him.”

Harry looked up with a frown. “Don’t be rude, Sirius. Professor Snape is my colleague.” He stood up and smiled at his godfather. “Besides, we were just about to leave. Right, Snape?”

He hoped that Sirius’ arrival didn’t break the charm of the last half an hour.

“Cease touching me, Black, or I'll break your fingers.” Snape said, eyeing the hand on his shoulder as if it would be a large slug.

“What’s wrong, Snape?” Sirius grinned down on the man. “Good old pals like us-“

Snape stood abruptly before Sirius could finish, then ignoring the man nailed his gaze at Harry. “Are you coming?”

“Oh yes, I intend to.” Harry grunted, then grabbed Sirius’ arm. “Look, sorry, but I really need to go. I’ll go over tomorrow, I promise.”

Sirius looked taken back. “Why ask me here if you’re just gonna ditch me now?”

“Ask you here?” Harry echoed. “I’d never asked you here.”

“Well, who sent this letter then?” He pulled a piece of parchment from the pocket of his jacket and showed it to Harry.

By the sight of the letter Snape suddenly straightened then looked from Harry to Sirius, then back again. “Unbelievable.” He growled. His black eyes that had been glinting with a dangerous teasing warmth previously, were now dead cold as they measured Harry. “You must be really desperate.” With that, he turned around and the next moment he stormed out of the pub, black robes billowing after him like a hurricane.

“What’s got his knickers in a twist?”

Silently, Harry fumed. Aloud, he only said, “Sirius, you are like a father I never had but this moment I could strangle you.”

“What did _I_ do?” Sirius grunted looking between Harry and the door where Snape stormed out through. “ _You_ asked me here.”

“Give me that letter!” Harry groused then snatched it from his godfather’s hands. He plopped down onto the chair again and rolled out the parchment. His eyes read over the lines, then looked up at Sirius. “What is this?”

“I don’t know.” The man said as he took Snape’s seat. “That’s your name there, isn’t it?”

A little calmer now, Harry ran through the letter again, then turned it around. It did have _Sirius_ written on the outside.

“I don’t think this was meant for you.” Harry said, trying to figure out whom it was meant for then.

“You don’t say, smartass,” Sirius grinned. “Think I didn’t find it suspicious that you called me sir and went on and on about us not being too friendly in the past years? I really liked that part you wrote about my bravery though, that was really sweet.” He laughed.

Harry stared at the parchment, a horrible, horrible feeling downing on him.

Sirius’ tone changed drastically as he noticed Harry’s desperate expression. “Harry, pup, what’s going on?” He asked more sincerely now.

“I uhm…” Harry started, unsure what to say and how to explain all this. He looked from the letter to Sirius, but barely saw him. “Ron and Hermione, they uhm… they set me up on a blind date. They uhm… sent out a letter to my date and asked him here.” He held out the parchment with a knowing look. “Here’s the letter.”

“And where’s your date? Clearly, this wasn’t meant for me.” Sirius took it back and Harry watched as his dark eyes ran over and over the lines. The same kind of horror settled on his face as Harry guessed was on his own. “Harry, can you tell me who this was meant for?” His voice was grave and he didn’t look in Harry’s eyes.

Harry stayed silent, his gaze on the door. “Fuck.”

Sirius gaped at him. “Well fuck indeed! Snape? I’m going have to have a serious conversation with Ron and Hermione if they think that man is-“

“Don’t insult him!” Harry growled at his godfather. “And lower your voice for fuck’s sake.”

“First of all, I was meant to say they are wrong, if they think that man is moved by a letter like this. Secondly, I understand you’re angry but it’s not my fault, I was dragged into this. It’s full moon, I have a werewolf at home, trust me I’m not here to ruin your evening.”

“I know,” Harry sighed as he looked at his godfather. “I’m sorry. How’s Remus?

Sirius waved a hand. “Remus is fine. But there’s something wrong. What’s wrong, Harry?”

“It’s just…how did they know?”

“Know what?”

Shit, he almost said it out loud. And to Sirius of all people.

“Never mind.”

“How did they know you like Snape? Well, probably the same way I did. They looked at you.”

“Wait, you know?” Harry cried.

“Why do you think I’m so nice to the man?”

“That was you being nice?”

“I haven’t had a decent argument with Snape in the last three years, Harry. I almost miss it!”

“Unbelievable!” Said Harry. “Does everyone know?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure Rosmerta there doesn’t but that’s only because she doesn’t give a fuck.” Sirius shrugged. “We had a bet going on, but Minerva won it like a year ago. None of us even imagined you wouldn’t snap already. It’s been like what, almost three years now.”

“A bet?! Sirius, if you don’t stop talking, I’m going to hit you!”

“Me? Hey kid, I said two weeks back at Hogwarts and you’re going to seduce that overgrown bat. If anyone deserves a punch it’s you for bringing shame to the Potter name. Even your father did a better job with Lily, and trust me we all thought _that_ to be a catastrophe back then.”

Unable to say anything, Harry leaned back on the chair and watched his godfather for a couple of moments. “So, you knew all this time?”

“Sure, pup.” Sirius shrugged. “We just figured… you know, you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Even Remus?”

“Oh, he was the first. He knew probably before you did. Heightened wolf-senses and all that. He can smell hormones, among other things.”

“Uh, too much information.”

“Yeah, he said the same.”

“Bloody hell.”

They sat in silence for a while, then Sirius leaned forwards.

“Look, Harry. I know I’m not the perfect date, given I’m married and your godfather and all that, but we can have dinner still, if you want. Remus is tied out safe and sound, and we can… you know talk about this little love thing you have going on. What do you say?”

Timid, but infinitely grateful to have a godfather, Harry nodded. “You have no idea how much I would love that.”

o.O.o

“Ron! Ron! Hermione! You there?”

He heard voices from the direction of the living room, then suddenly bunny slipper covered feet appeared in his vision.

Ron kneeled down, the pink fluffy bathrobe that was tied around his waist opened up slightly more.

“Wrong time?” Harry asked, looking at his friend’s face.

“I don’t know, Harry. You tell me. It’s eleven in the evening on Valentine’s Day and I’m home with my girlfriend.”

Harry smiled apologetically. “Sorry mate, I forgot.”

“It’s cool. How was your date? Did he go?”

“That’s what I was about to ask. It was Snape, wasn’t it? You wanted to write to him?”

Before Ron could answer, Hermione showed up too, wearing Ron’s deep blue bathrobe, her hair a wild mess.

“Gods guys, I’m so sorry. I should just leave...”

“Don’t you dare go away. Tell us everything!” She said excitedly as she sat down in front of the fireplace, right next to Ron.

“That’s the thing, there’s nothing to tell. Not really. He never got the letter. It went to Sirius.”

“Sirius? That’s impossible.” Hermione frowned. “I remember writing Severus on it. I thought he’d like that. You know, first names and all.” She blushed.

“Shit,” Ron stood up suddenly and went away, Harry couldn’t see where.

“I’m so sorry, Harry, maybe we can do it again, next week?”

“I don’t think that will work.” Harry then told Hermione about the conversation he had with Snape and the cold glare he got at the end. “He can’t be thinking me and Sirius…” He asked, shuddering.

“Ew, no, I don’t think so.” Hermione shuddered, too.

“It went so well up until that moment.” Harry whined.

Ron returned carrying something in his hands. “Shit. I know what went wrong.” He held up his spell-checking quill. “Damn auto-correct, mate. Sorry.”

Harry scratched his bearded chin. “It’s fine. I bet he wouldn’t even have come if he saw that letter.”

“Hey, my letter was good.” Ron said affronted.

“That’s not what I mean. Sirius is right. A letter like that would never work on Snape. Maybe five years ago it would have, but not now.”

“Then what does?” Hermione asked.

“Beats me.” Harry said.

They both turned to Ron, who just shook his head. “Don’t look at me. It took me three years to figure out I’m in love then one more to kiss the girl. I’m not what you might call a valuable source here.”

“Let’s hope it won’t take that long for Harry.” Hermione said with a soft smile.

Harry looked from her to Ron and felt a bit of warmth spread in his chest. He smiled at them, too. “Thanks guys. You’ve always been there for me. I don’t know why I didn’t say a word.”

“I do!” Ron said cheerfully. “Because you’re an idiot. Now that we made that clear, what are your plans regarding Snape?”

“Plans? Nothing. I don’t know what happened tonight, but I’m pretty sure it was because of some star alignment that only occurred once in every millennium. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione said softly. “Do you want to come over?”

“Yeah, come on, mate. We have some cold beer and some left-over chili. We’ll watch some shitty horror movie and you can share the couch with Crookshanks.”

Harry laughed. “I thought you two were in the middle of something.”

Hermione blushed, but Ron just said, “Nothing we can’t continue tomorrow.”

“Thanks, but just because my Valentine’s Day went shitty, it doesn’t mean yours needs to be as well. Go and have fun.”

They said goodbye and Harry pulled his head out of the fire. After some dizzying twirling, he got back onto his own rug. He turned on his back and lied down. For minutes he saw nothing just Snape as he sat there by the table, black eyes glinting darkly with an unsaid promise that made Harry’s inside squirm, one single digit stroking up and down the slim stem of the glass.

Harry’s hand that lied on his stomach now twitched. He let it move between his legs as he cupped his own cock and started rubbing his palm against it.

He could probably come just recalling that one image, he wouldn’t even need more. Just that little self-satisfied smile and those glimmering black eyes would be enough to undo him. He stroked himself through his jeans and moments later he was already hard just as he was before Sirius arrived.

The knock on the door interrupted him again.

“God dammit.” He grunted then got up.

He went to the door and looked down on himself. Luckily, the jeans were not too tight, so some things remained hidden in the dim light of his chamber.

He opened the door and his eyes went wide. “Snape. Hi. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Obviously,” the man said with a roll of his eyes, then went on quickly. “You know about the two students who came down with Dragon Pox today, I trust.”

“Yeah, Lara from Gryffindor and the McGriff boy from Ravenclaw.”

“Indeed,” Snape nodded. “I came to inform you that at this moment Poppy has about ten more people down in the Infirmary with the pox. From midnight we’ll have some special measure in place that will slow the further spread of the virus. We cannot know who has been infected by now and it seems there is no way to stop it spreading further. Unfortunately, Minerva is one of the ten already affected, so as of today, you will take over as temporary Head of Gryffindor House.”

“Is she okay?”

“She has a slight fever and she’s breathing fire upon anyone who dares go down to visit. Quite literally, I’m afraid.”

“All right, no visiting then. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Unless you have about two hundred vials of antiserum we could administer hidden there in your chamber, I highly doubt your expertise will be useful this time.”

_Why don’t you come in and check_ was on Harry’s tongue but the mood didn’t quite feel all right to say it. “If there’s anything I can do-“

“I’ll inform you.” Snape nodded then turned around.

Harry couldn’t let him go, especially not after all that happened tonight.

“Snape, wait,” he called after him. “Look, about this evening… I’m sorry about Sirius.”

“I admit, he’s not as annoying as he used to be. There is no need to apologize on his behalf.”

“No, I mean…” Harry ran his hand through his hair. “There was a mistake with the letter. It wasn’t meant for him. I don’t know who it was for.” He lied before Snape could ask.

The apology didn’t seem to affect Snape at all. If anything, the mention of the letter only made him even more angry. He stepped closer, but only to look more threatening. “Just how many letters were sent out, Mr. Potter?” He sneered. “How desperate do you need to be for a fuck to let your friends send out who knows how many invitations?”

“Fuck you, I’m not desperate,” Harry snarled back. “I could have a guy any day, if I wanted to. And there was only one letter.”

“Oh, just the one?” Snape growled, then snapped his fingers in the air. “What’s this then?” He asked as he held out a rolled-up parchment for Harry. “I imagine this was a mistake as well, like everything else?”

Harry snatched it out from his hand and read it. Then read it again, because he didn’t believe Ron would be such an idiot to deliver something like this. The letter was short and to the point:

**_Dear Professor Snape,_ **

**_I think you are really hot and clever. I really like you._ **

**_Would you like to have dinner with me this Saturday at the Three Broomsticks? Maybe seven?_ **

**_Please circle your answer:_ **

**_Yes / Yes, but let’s skip dinner_ **

**_Always yours (if you want it),_ **

**_Harry_ **

“Where the hell did you get this?”

“Your owl dropped it on my desk the other day.”

“Hedwig? The last time I sent her out, she went to Ron’s to… Oh shit. She must have seen your name on this and picked it up.”

Harry watched Snape for a long moment, but then his gaze dropped to the letter. He allowed himself a little smile as he looked back at the man. “Which one did you choose?”

Snape frowned so Harry lifted the parchment in his hand. “What was your answer?” He moved closer to Snape, just inches at a time. The man didn’t walk away. He just stayed there, motionless. “You did come tonight, so… What was your answer?”

Suddenly, Snape lifted his wand and Harry expected a spell to flatten him on the ground, but instead a black quill appeared in the air, hoovering. Snape took it, then wordlessly summoned the letter from Harry’s grasp.

He circled one of the answers, then the quill vanished with a little _puff_.

His anger seemed to have dissolved as he held out the parchment for Harry, who took it with a shaking hand. Once Harry had it, Snape turned to walk away.

Quickly, Harry unrolled the parchment. There, on the bottom was indeed a big black circle around **_Yes, but let’s skip dinner_**.

His heart missed a beat. “Shit!” He cried and grasped Snape’s wrist, pulling him back, before he could move. 

“Don’t go!” He said holding on only tighter when Snape tried to free himself. “You know what was going on tonight. I was waiting for my blind date, who never showed up. A spell-checking quill changed the name from Severus to Sirius. I don’t know what this letter is, but the real one, that Sirius got, that was meant for you as well.”

“Let me go!” Snape said quietly.

“You were my blind date.”

“I went down to have a drink.” Snape said in denial.

Harry lifted the letter in his hand and grinned. Snape’s circled answer was still as clear as sunlight. “Clearly an accident that we met there.”

His thumb drifted on Snape’s wrist, softly caressing the man. He didn’t even stop when Snape looked down on their arms. Instead, he tugged him even a bit closer. “We were about to move our conversation a little more private anyway, weren’t we?” He asked in a quiet voice, his thumb relentlessly stroking the soft skin. “Why not come inside?” He nodded behind him.

“I could have meant many things with that answer, Potter. I could have meant I would not be hungry and rather have just a drink with you. Or skip the whole thing and hear your apology on behalf of your idiotic friends that you still owe me for this stupid joke. A phrase, Professor Potter, such as skip dinner, could mean many things, while your advances at the moment are quite straightforward.” Snape whispered in a near silent hiss.

For a moment, Harry thought he went too far, and Snape indeed was outraged with his behaviour. But then he thought, in for a Knut, in for a Galleon. Two and half years were more than enough suffering and he deserved a little bit of happiness, too.

“But that wasn’t what it meant, was it, Professor Snape?”

“You are being foolish. Now let me go. I won’t ask again.”

“No. It wasn’t a joke.” Harry said firmly, looking up into dangerous black eyes. “And besides we had our little moment there, don’t deny it.”

The next second, Harry felt his whole arm twist behind his back and his face slam against the doorframe. “Didn’t I tell you I have a way of making people do what I want?”

“I didn’t really think of this, when you said that.” Harry grunted as his arm was twisted just a little bit more.

There was a moment of silence, then the hold on his hand loosened a little. “What did you think of then, Mr. Potter?” Came the sweetly deep voice right next to his ear.

Harry groaned again, not from pain this time. “Trust me, Headmaster, you don’t want to know.”

“Trust me, I do.” Snape answered in a low voice, then pressed against Harry’s back.

Harry whined. Hard cock against the doorframe, there wasn’t really anything else to do. He leaned his head against the wood. “Let me go and I tell you?” He said weakly. He didn’t really want to go. Despite the tension in his arm, he was right where he wanted to be for a long, long time.

His hand was let go however, though Snape didn’t move from behind him. If anything, he felt the Headmaster even closer. A gentle hand tugged on his waist to make him turn around and he did. As if he could resist that little plea, stand there at the door with a hard on and not look Snape in the fucking eyes.

“What were you thinking, Potter?” Snape drawled softly. “Always getting yourself in such dangerous situations…”

“Clearly, I’m not thinking.” Harry risked a teasing half smile. A finger was drifting down on his chest, a single digit stroking him how it did to the stem of that glass.

“No, you don’t do that often, do you? You’re more of a doer, isn’t that right, Mr. Potter?” Snape inhaled deeply, as his finger reached Harry’s belt. They both watched it, almost mesmerized. Inches from there, Harry’s hard cock pulsed with excitement. “One of your more… appealing attributes, I must admit.”

“Who would have thought, this is what you find appealing…” Harry said, licking his lips.

The finger started heading up, dragging with it Harry’s jumper, as well. Since there was nothing beneath it, other fingers descended on his bare skin, gently caressing him as they moved up. Harry almost came.

“No one likes a passive participant, no matter what activity we speak of.”

“What activity are we speaking of?” Harry asked breathlessly. “My guess is, it’s not Quidditch.”

Snape’s eyes snapped from his own fingers to Harry’s eyes. They were alight with black fire. He laughed, but it was nothing more than a deep, reverberating hum. Harry felt it against his chest. 

The silence dragged on. Harry looked from one endless eye to the other, then Snape leaned just a fraction closer. Nothing could break the tension between them, not even the distant chimes of the grand clock signalling midnight. For a fleeting second, as his eyes slowly closed, Harry thought, some magic did hold after midnight, then he felt warm breath on his lips.

“Not Quidditch indeed,” Snape murmured almost against Harry’s lips, as his palm flattened on Harry’s bare chest, thumb rubbing an erect little bud.

Then he stepped away. Harry almost fell after him.

“I’m afraid, our time is up, Mr. Potter. Good night.”

Frozen on the spot, Harry watched him move away. He could still feel the warm hand on his skin, all but taste those lips on his own, and yet the man was many feet away. Just what the hell was going on?

“Snape!” He thundered as he marched after him. “Come back here, you bastard!”

Snape stopped and turned around. He was smirking. Harry hated him more than anything. Though it might have been sheer desire.

“Get in that room right now,” Harry growled as he came near him.

“Don’t order me around, Potter.”

He reached out and he was about to grab the man’s robe to drag him in there himself, but his hands knocked into something. Shimmering magic, like a shield, surrounded Snape.

“What the hell?” Harry asked, flummoxed.

“I told you, Potter.” He reached out too, and his fingers knocked against the same field. “After midnight, special measures will be put in place to prevent the further spread of the virus.”

“Virus…” Harry repeated, looking crestfallen at Snape. “The Dragon Pox?” Their previous conversation, the actual reason Snape was here, started to come back slowly. “You mean, from today to whomever knows how long, I won’t be able to come within six feet of you?”

“That is precisely the situation.” Snape smirked.

“You’re joking.” Harry said and tried again, but the shimmering wall still stood between them.

“I am not. A social distance from each other greatly reduces-“

“Bullshit!” Harry roared. “I don’t want to be six feet from you.”

“Who knew that would be the case?” Snape teased with a dark smile.

“Yeah, who indeed.” Harry murmured. “How long?”

“Until all the infected are cured.”

Desperate, Harry watched Snape. There was no doubt Snape enjoyed the situation. Harry on the other hand was probably quite literally two touches away from coming and hence, found this new development nothing but cruel. At this moment he cared not a single bit about his students and only about the man six feet from him.

With a deep sigh, he leaned against the wall.

“Well played,” He said as he ran five fingers through his hair.

Snape just stood there and smiled smugly.

“I’ll make you regret this.” Harry promised with a confident grin. “By the time, we’re done with this virus, you’ll want it as bad as I do.”

“What, Professor Potter, could you possibly mean?” Snape asked, with a raised eyebrow, thin lips vibrating not to betray the smile that Harry saw in Snape’s gaze.

“You know very well what I mean.” He huffed. “Goodnight… Severus.”

Dark eyes glinted in the candle light. “That’s still Professor Snape for you.”

“In your dreams.” Harry murmured, as he turned to head back to his chamber.

He could still hear Snape’s answer: “Quite the other way around, in fact.” Then, he left the classroom, too.


	3. Fire Within

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Here's the next one Lovelies! Thanks so much for the continued interest in the story, it's so great to see your responses!_  
>  Love you all!

# Chapter Three: Fire Within 

Next morning, which turned out to be a horribly cloudy Sunday, Harry’s first instinct took him to the Gryffindor Tower to let the children know he will be responsible for them from now on until Professor McGonagall will be better, and explain to them this new phenomenon.

As he imagined, the few people who woke up early and noticed the six feet radius magic bubble around them immediately roused the rest and the Common Room was swarming with anxious teens by the time Harry got there at seven o’clock in the morning.

The children, unlike Harry, took the restriction quite calmly, and after a couple worried questions regarding Minerva, Harry was free to leave for breakfast with the first and hungriest batch of students.

The Great Hall was rather airy, given every second and third chair was left free in order for the children to keep their social distance. The teacher’s table looked the same. Wide gaps were left empty to accommodate the new restrictions. The nearest available chair on Snape’s right was left open so Harry took it.

“Good morning, Headmaster,” He called nonchalantly once he was seated.

Snape looked up from the Daily Prophet, his gaze sweeping over Harry. The corner of his lips seemed to tug up a little as if seeing Harry would already make this day start just a fraction better.

“Morning, Professor Potter,” Came the unusually pleasant greeting, before Snape returned to his reading.

“Anything interesting in the Prophet today?”

“There are several articles about the Dragon Pox, they mention our lockdown as well, but nothing serious.”

On Snape’s other side, Professor Flitwick was finishing his porridge before he turned to the Headmaster. “And when can we expect the serums from St. Mungo’s?” Asked the small professor in a high-pitched voice. “Surely Hogwarts is on the top priority list.”

Snape folded the newspaper and placed it on his empty plate.

“Indeed, we are,” came the calm answer. “Which means we might get it in one or two… weeks.”

Harry spit his coffee back into the mug. “You mean _days_. One or two _days_.” He managed through heavy coughs.

Snape raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Please tell me you meant days.” Harry tried again, voice weak.

“I meant what I said. There are more and more incidents all over the country and we are not the first on that list. The Ministry has reported almost a hundred wizards and witches affected, and while we can continue functioning even with the restrictions, they cannot.” Snape explained.

Harry looked heartbroken. A whole week or even two without being able to touch Snape? How cruel.

“But… but… the children! There must be some way!”

Snape gave him a knowing look and sneered. “However touching your concern towards the _children_ is, Professor Potter, I can assure you, there is nothing we can do at the moment but wait. I was guaranteed that once the Ministry is cleared of the pox, we will be next in line to receive the antidotes.”

With one last nod at his colleagues, Snape stood and walked away, heading towards the main entrance. Harry stayed for a little while just to finish his breakfast, then he, too, decided to retreat. Thankfully, there were no lectures today, but he didn’t feel like being holed up in his own chambers either so he went outside the castle and headed towards the Forbidden forest.

There was smoke coming off from the chimney of Hagrid’s hut. The Keeper of the Keys was outside, shovelling dirt in his small garden. Fang stood guard over his owner, not that Hagrid needed it. Once Harry showed up the dog lifted his great head from his paws and started barking.

Hagrid looked up from his work straight away. “Hush, you big old dolt, don’t you see who it is?” He told the dog who quieted right away.

“Hello, Hagrid!” Harry greeted his friend. “What are you doing?”

“Planting my ice beetroots. This is the best time for it,” Hagrid explained, swiping his hand across his forehead. He was sweating profusely regardless that it was rather cold outside. The ground must be frozen solid.

“Do you need help?” Harry offered.

“Nah,” Came the answer. “You have your hands full, I hear. How’s Professor McGonagall?”

“Breathing fire, but well, as far as I know. I’m not allowed to visit.”

“Better that way,” Hagrid nodded wisely. “Dragon Pox is no child’s play to go through.”

“Have you ever had it?” Harry asked as he sat up on the fence, while he watched Hagrid continue digging.

“No, I can’t catch it, because of my giant side. Something good innit, at least, right?”

Harry nodded, absentmindedly. “What’s it like?” To Hagrid’s confused look, he added, “The pox, I mean. Never seen it.”

Hagrid stopped the digging and leaned on his shovel. It gave out a weak grunt.

“You’re itchy at first because of the scales, your fever breaks out, then the green tint shows up. By this time, you ought to have gone to a Healer, ‘cause it only gets worse. You have sparks coming out of your nose with every sneeze and you start coughing. That’s when the fire breathing starts. They say it’s good, helps you get the worst of it out, but it doesn’t always work. Then it starts burning… from inside out. There are other symptoms, too like burning hot touch and glowing embers on your tongue, but those happen only rarely.”

Harry gulped. “Sounds horrible.”

“As I hear, it is.”

“But the antidote…”

“Sure, that helps, but there wasn’t much stored, ya’ know. It’s been a while since there was an outbreak. Now it takes time to make it. Not to mention gold.”

“Gold?”

“Oh yeah, you need dragon blood to make the antidote and that doesn’t come cheap.” Hagrid turned back to his garden and started digging again. “But I’m sure it will work out, Harry.”

Harry stayed for a little longer and they talked for a bit. However, while Hagrid’s giant blood made him more tolerable towards the cold, soon the icy winds crept into Harry’s all too human bones and he left, going back to the castle, longing for a warm fireplace to lean against.

He didn’t even manage to reach his chamber, when something a lot better came along.

“Professor Potter, a word please,” Snape called and Harry turned around.

“Yes, Headmaster?”

A group of third years went past them, staring bright eyed at Harry for a long moment, then they giggled and hastened their steps. Snape watched with evident disgust on his face, then motioned with his head towards The Defence classroom.

“Let’s talk inside,” he said.

Harry opened the door and walked through. Snape followed him and he led the man straight through the classroom and inside his private room. He took off his coat and scarf and dropped them on the sofa nearby.

Snape looked around, although he made no comment regarding the state of Harry’s quarter. Not that there was much to comment on. The room wasn’t dirty per say, but Harry was sure Snape wouldn’t leave out a chance to slip in a few insults, regardless what happened between them last night. If anything even did happen.

“How can I help you, sir?”

“You can’t.” Came the simple reply as Snape walked further inside. He pulled his wand out and pointed it at the fireplace, and the next moment lively flames started eating up the wood in there. He kept staring at the fire absentmindedly, tapping his palm lightly with his wand until a few purple sparks shot out.

_Strange_ , Harry thought, but aloud, he only said: “Would you like some tea?”

“Do you have something stronger?” Snape said, not even looking up.

“It’s barely even past noon,” Harry commented lightly with a small smile.

Snape looked up then, black eyes glimmering strangely. “I came here to talk about last night.” He stated. 

Harry nodded slowly. “Whiskey it is then.”

He went to pour two glasses and placed one on the mantel. Snape took it, lifted the glass to his nose and sniffed it, but did not take a sip. It was as if he would be stalling, whatever for Harry wasn’t sure.

He waited for a while for Snape to speak, then waited a little longer, but in vain. The headmaster remained silent and kept staring into the fire as if mesmerized by it.

“What about last night?” Harry asked in the end. He had a wild suspicion where this was going and he didn’t like it one bit. His heart was hammering in his chest and he really didn’t want to hear what Snape had to say.

“What?” Snape asked looking up as if he had just awakened. He seemed almost surprised to find the glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Last night,” Harry repeated. “You said you wanted to talk about it.”

“Oh, yes, right.” Snape nodded. “I… _we_ behaved foolishly. It cannot happen again.”

“Which part was foolish?” Harry asked daringly. “That we had a drink together? That you were stroking my bare chest? Or the part when you almost kissed me?”

Snape stared at him affronted but there was a little red tint on his pale cheeks. Of course, it could have been just because he was standing too close to the fire.

“All of it,” he hissed quietly.

Harry nodded, then took a sip of his drink.

“Glad to see we are in agreement,” Snape noted.

“As always, we’re as far from agreement as we could be.” Harry stated. “Whatever happened down in the Three Broomsticks, I know you felt it, too.”

“I felt nothing.” Came the cold reply.

“You sure, you didn’t?” Harry asked back with a frown. “What would have happened if Sirius didn’t come, hm, Snape?” Harry asked as he moved closer and leaned against the mantle, too. The magic between them shimmered warningly not to get closer. “We were about to take things to somewhere more… _private_ , weren’t we? Would it have been your room, or this right here?” He asked with a wave around his chamber.

Snape just screwed up his face but didn’t answer. Not that Harry gave him much time to do so. He kept talking, looking from one sparkling black eye to the other.

“What were you planning to do with me once we were _private_ , I wonder. Could it be that you just wanted some tea and nothing else? Would you have sat on that sofa, finished your cup and we would have parted with an amenable goodbye? Or maybe you had something different in mind…?” Harry guessed with a smirk. “Something a lot closer to what you did to me just outside my doors.”

The remark made Snape look almost angry. Yet, he didn’t move. Nor did he open his mouth to haul curses at Harry. He did ask quietly though, “What did I do to you exactly, Potter?”

Harry smiled. “You don’t remember?” Followed by a pair of black eyes, his hand slipped under his shirt. “I can recall it way too easily.” He whispered as his hand moved slowly upwards. “You touched me here,” he said softly, hand sliding on his bare chest. “And I most definitely remember your thumb here,” he said as his finger flickered over an erect little nub. The small sigh that left his mouth was only half-pretence; he did enjoy this.

Snape’s hand rose, but it must have been an involuntary motion, because once he noticed it, he dropped it down once again. It was too late though; Harry saw it too and he smiled triumphantly. He lowered his hand and the shirt fell back over his chest.

“You misread the situation,” Snape stated firmly. “I was toying with you for fun, the same way your friends were -"

“My friends didn’t toy with you.” Harry said quickly but quietly. “They told you what they thought I felt.”

“They were still wrong.”

“I told you before. My friends know me better than I do myself. Every word in that letter was true.”

“It couldn’t have been.” Snape whispered and for a moment it seemed to Harry that he truly wanted that to be the case. It surely would have made things easier between them.

“I assure you, it was.” Harry stated with a confident voice. “So, the question is what did you mean last night when you said, let’s move this somewhere more private. Was it a cup of tea on the sofa, or -“ Harry turned around and looked at the dark room behind them, “the bedroom.”

His gaze was back on Snape the next moment, watching for his reply.

Angry, Snape glared at him for a long moment, but then his eyes did betray him. His gaze was suddenly stuck on the bedroom and Harry knew he had his answer. He felt a sudden rush of desire twist his stomach into a tight knot.

A resigned sigh broke out of Snape and he cast his eyes down. Harry wanted to move closer and lift that face with a finger, but he was not allowed.

“I would have-“ Harry started but the words stumbled in his throat. He had to swallow hard and when he opened his mouth again, his voice came out in a near whisper. “I would have let you do anything with me.”

Black eyes were on him once more, burning the skin on his face. The fire in the hearth felt cold compared to Snape’s heated gaze.

The headmaster let out a heavy sigh, and lifted the glass to his lips. He took a sip of the whiskey, clearly only to have something to do with his hands.

“I won’t deny,” Snape started, voice soft enough that Harry barely heard him over the cracking of the burning wood, “your admission is… gratifying to hear. Alas, as I said earlier, we’ve behaved foolishly. Me, more so than you.”

“Well, I’ll gladly behave even more foolishly with you any day.” Harry insinuated.

“Potter!” Snape said warningly. “Listen to yourself! Listen to what you are telling me!”

“What’s wrong with it? You wanted the same thing last night!” Harry argued back, shouting over Snape, who didn’t shut up either.

“If you could just try and understand my position –“

“You position has nothing to do with this –“

“This could have serious –“

“You’re just scared –“

“Don’t insult me when –“

“It’s not an insult, it’s just the truth!”

Soon, their voices rose higher and higher until they were all but screaming at each other.

“You’re only doing this because you need someone to –“ Snape shouted but Harry cut in again.

“Not anyone! _You_! I need _you_ to –“

Harry couldn’t finish. Snape moved, one quick step closer, hand rising. What he wanted to do was written all over his face, was etched into each and every inch of movement his body made. Harry too, felt himself instinctively reach towards the man, wanting more than anything for their bodies to finally collide. He all but felt those lips on him already and could only imagine what Snape’s no doubt angry bites would feel on his skin.

But the collision never came. Snape’s hand and whole body was stopped by the magic enforcing the six feet between them and so was Harry. For a moment they only stared at each other and Harry could swear he saw Snape’s black eyes glow red like cinder.

Snape let out a frustrated groan and the next second, he hurled the glass at the barrier, which passed through unaffected and zoomed by only inches from Harry's face, only to collide with the bookshelf and shatter into millions of pieces.

Now, there was absolute silence between them. It was only briefly disturbed by the sound of dripping liquid. Wide eyed they both stared at the remains of the glass on the floor and spilled whiskey dripping from Harry’s books.

“A-apologies,” Snape stuttered and Harry knew he didn’t mean the broken glass.

He looked back at the headmaster, ignoring the mess behind him. He could say nothing. They were both slightly panting still from the adrenaline, and all Harry wanted to do was step closer, bury his hand in that cascade of black ink Snape called his hair and ensure the man that a broken glass was the last of his concerns right now.

“Will you still deny it?” Harry asked at last.

Snape looked away and sighed. He seemed defeated, and it was the sweetest victory Harry had ever achieved. “After this foolish display, how could I?” He said softly.

“Good,” Harry answered with a smile. “It’s Sunday, I have nothing to do, and since you are here in my room and not in your office, I gather neither have you.”

Snape’s stance loosened slightly as he looked back at Harry. “I have a list of things to do the size of a fully developed basilisk, one more important than the other. None of which is, unfortunately, enough to pull my thoughts away from a certain young man who offers him to me on a silver platter.” He waved a nonchalant hand at the room. “Hence, here I am.”

There was utter surrender in his voice. He didn't even seem like he had the strength to continue with the façade of denial, for which Harry was immensely grateful, because hearing the absolute truth from the man was a remarkable feeling.

“I’m sure that certain young man feels completely horrendous for keeping you from your important work.” Harry smirked.

“Oh, are you?” Snape huffed. “I highly doubt that.”

“But since you’re here,” said Harry ignoring the comment, “why don’t you join me for a drink.” He offered, then took a side glance at his soaked books. “This time, perhaps, we could even drink the stuff. I think my books are drunk enough.” As if on cue, one of the books let out a loud belch and fell over.

“As you wish,” Snape said.

Harry pointed at the sofa for Snape to sit, then turned to clean up the mess. A flick of his wand had the glass shards vanish, another dried the books, and a third summoned a new glass of whiskey for Snape. It hovered in the air while Snape sat down, ice cubes clinking against the crystal with a sharp sound.

“You’re uncharacteristically compliant all of a sudden.” Harry noted as he sat down on the armchair opposite Snape.

The headmaster took a sip and crossed his legs. “If this visit proved anything, it is that I’m unable to say no to you.” He said in a calm voice. He didn't cast his eyes away in shame. It was as if now that he revealed the truth about what he wanted last night (and just now) he came entirely in terms with his desires and hence felt no need for them to be hidden. This yielding honesty set Harry's blood on fire.

The remark made him smile, too. “I’m very glad to hear that.”

“There’s at least the knowledge that we will not be able to make this mistake for quite some time still. There’s a chance you might change your mind.”

“That won’t happen.” Harry assured him.

“We’ll see, Potter. One can only hope.”

Harry sipped into his whiskey as well. “You sound like I invited you to a funeral, not my bed.”

Snape’s eyes flashed. “I wish you did,” he sighed. “A funeral would have more inconsequential outcomes than… bedding you.”

“I don’t understand.” Harry said with a small frown. “One minute you say you want this, next you you’d rather go to a funeral. So, what is it? Door’s that way, you’re free to go.”

“My greatest mistake was allowing you to come here, and yet how could I have decided otherwise, you were born for this position. And you, you thank me for my kindness with nothing but torture.” Snape sighed dramatically, as he looked up from his glass, eyes, like before, a pair of smouldering black embers. “Don’t you think I would have gone away, if I could? Free, am I? You say that yet I cannot rid myself of you even in my dreams. You haunt me, a ghost of desire, there, all the time, _everywhere_. I wake up and you’re there, I can still feel your touch on my bare skin. I eat and you’re there, I bath, I walk, I work and you’re there, always.” He sounded angry. He swallowed a gulp of whiskey, and went on calmer, his gaze still pinning Harry to the couch. “You think I don’t want to leave? I came here to say goodbye, look how well that went. If not for this stupid magic, I’d be all over you already. I’d devour you.”

Harry felt his cheeks heat up. “Gods, the things you tell me know.” He noted softly. “Why couldn’t you say this a week ago?”

“You’ve realized I want you, and now I have nothing left to lose. What could you possibly do to make this even worse? Tell your friends? What do I care about their opinion? It is you who never should have found out.”

“It’s a good thing I did.” Harry assured him. “But if you didn’t want me to find out, why even come to the Three Broomsticks?”

“Because you sent me a letter. Or well, I thought you did anyway. Imagine it for a second, if you will, how confusing it was to receive that letter, Potter. Your hatred of me is legendary, or so I was led to believe over the years. Then this letter comes, containing both an admission and an unmistakable proposal. If it was a joke, it was one on you, since it was your reputation on the line if I showed that missive to anyone. Not for a second have I considered it to be serious. When you said, you don’t even know who you are meeting with, I drew the conclusion that it _must be_ a joke on you. Why it involved me, is not hard to imagine. That legendary hatred is, as we both know, not a secret to anyone. I should have let you go, let you believe your date won’t show up. I should have told you there that you’ve been made a fool.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“How can you be so beautiful yet so dim?” Snape snapped. “Have you not listened to a word I was saying? I want you more than anything I ever wanted in my godforsaken life.”

Harry ignored the butterflies raging in his belly. “How does that explain any of this?”

“How does it not? There was a letter with your name on it asking me to have dinner with you, or, if I so chose, to take you straight to bed. I am a strong-willed man, but how was I supposed to resist an offer like that?” 

Harry remained silent for a few minutes, staring blatantly at Snape. Two and a half years and all this time, Snape probably wanted the same thing he did. How could they miss it? He understood it all now, how could he not, when he dreamed of Snape, too, thought of him every day. Their arguments weren’t just simple squabbles, they were moments when their frustration peaked and they needed a release.

“I want to make one thing clear.” Harry said at last. Snape nodded to signal he was listening. “I don’t hate you.”

“Gathered as much,” Snape murmured under his breath, but still loud enough so Harry would hear.

“Apparently, it’s not my hatred of you that’s legendary among our acquaintances. Quite the opposite in fact. As it turns out, since I started teaching here, it was a known fact that I’m in love with you. If you doubt my word,” Harry went on quickly, because Snape looked like he wanted to interrupt, “ask Minerva about the little bet they had going on.”

Snape eyed him for a moment, but made no remark regarding the confession. He either thought it to be nonsense not worth his attention, or made a mental note to question Professor McGonagall when he had the chance.

Harry placed his glass on the table between them and leaned with his elbows on his knees. Eyes on the carpet, he heaved a sigh, then looked up at Snape. “What now?”

“I should leave,” Snape said but made no move.

“Out of the question.”

“Why torture ourselves, Potter. You know nothing can happen, not today, or in the next week or so. And beyond that, nothing _should_ happen.”

“Torture? This? Having you in my room? You think that’s torture?”

“All I can think of is how much I want to taste you, sink my teeth into your flesh and mark your skin, to claim you.” Snape’s voice was suddenly sweetly deep, like the murmur of the ocean. “My whole body itches to grab you and haul you to that bedroom. Seven steps, did you know? That’s all I’d have to take to finally have you in a bed. So yes, yes, I do think this is torture. But I’ll endure it, I must since I cannot stand up and leave, the same way you cannot seem to send me away.”

Harry took his wand from the table and leaned back. He drew his thumb over the slim wood all the way to the tip, then looked up. “I expected more from a Slytherin, Snape.” He said lightly.

Eyes nailed to Harry’s finger, it took Snape a moment to answer. “More what, Potter?”

Harry flicked the wand, the motion nothing more than a little twist of his wrist. “Ingenuity.” He answered and then they watched the black buttons on Snape’s outer robe unfasten one after the other.

“You can’t come any closer,” Snape stated with confusion in his soft voice. “You can’t touch me.”

“I won’t need to.” Harry promised darkly, voice low.

The black robe fell away, revealing a white shirt underneath. A small, almost unnoticeable flick of Harry’s forefinger had the top two buttons simply fly off. Snape made no comment to the desacralization of his shirt. In fact, no remark came from him whatsoever even when Harry lifted a half-melted ice cube from his glass and made it slowly fly over to Snape’s long neck. The headmaster only flinched when the first drop of cold whiskey fell on his skin, but he tilted his head slightly more. When Harry pressed the ice cube against his neck, he did let out a delicious sound, a mix of a shaky breath and a moan that came from somewhere deeper within.

Harry’s eyebrow rose. “Should I stop?” He asked.

“Undoubtedly,” Snape answered. “If you’d like to end my life.”

The cube started melting quicker against Snape’s hot skin and a little droplet slid down under his shirt. Harry wished to rip the fabric apart and follow its brave trail with his eyes, but he controlled his urges.

He moved the cube again, slid it up against the tendon, followed with it the sharp line of Snape’s chin, then touched it against pink lips. They parted willingly and a tongue slipped out. Snape gave it a small lick, caught a stray droplet with the tip of his tongue.

Then the cube moved again. Slipped down on a slippery curve of a long neck and further down, tracing protruding clavicles, then dipping below the white shirt and disappearing from Harry’s view.

Harry didn’t need to see it to know exactly where it was. Snape flinched when the ice touched his nipple. He uncrossed his legs and they fell apart, giving an excellent view for Harry about the effects of his little magic trick. It was clearly visible, pressing against the black slacks.

Snape shifted in his seat, head falling back. “Kill me now,” he growled. “End this suffering.” His back arched from the couch. Harry understood the sentiment. He could precisely imagine how much Snape wanted his touch, how much they needed each other in fact, to quench this inebriating desire that burnt both of them from within.

“You’re not tied,” Harry suggested. “Help yourself. You have hands of your own, don’t you?”

Snape’s whole body stiffened and he lifted his head. His black eyes were noticeably lighter, the colour of flame, of melted lava and they burned Harry just the same. He ignored his own stiffening nether regions and kept his eyes on Snape.

He moved not, so Harry shifted his wand. With it, the ice cube moved as well, sneaked to Snape’s other side, circled around a hardened nub. Snape bit his lips as he drew breath between his teeth, and his hand shot to cup his cock. Harry clutched his wand so hard, his magic acted up and the ice cube burst into pieces.

Snape looked down on his soaked chest, a smirk tugging up his lips. “A bit premature, isn’t it?” He teased, but his hand moved, he stroked himself languidly, his eyelids at half-mast. Even through his long lashes, Harry could see his eyes gleaming red.

“Can you blame me?” Harry asked, his left hand now has, too, fallen in his lap, the other trembling as it clutched his wand.

“Not in the least,” Snape smirked, but the expression froze off his face when, by Harry’s unsaid command, his shirt started opening up, revealing more of his bare skin. “I warn you, Potter, you won’t like what you’ll find there.”

“Unless you’re hiding Voldemort down there, I hardly think there’s anything that can dissuade me at this point.”

“Not him, but his marks. Many of them.” Snape explained, but the shirt kept opening.

“Scars?” Harry chuckled. “If you think a couple of scars can frighten me away, you haven’t understood just how much I want you.”

“You were warned,” said the headmaster as the last button flew open. Eyes the colour of hot steel bore into Harry expecting the worst, but Harry knew each of Snape’s scars had a twin etched into his own skin as well. The last couple years haven’t left him unmarked either. Yet, as his magic pushed the white shirt apart, a sight he was not expecting in the least twisted his stomach.

“Snape… you…” He kept staring, unable to look away.

“I warned you, Potter,” Snape hissed, hurt and suddenly detached, then tried to cover himself back again. Harry didn’t let him.

“Look at yourself,” Harry whispered urgently. “Look at your –“

Snape cut in before he could finish. “I’ve seen it enough times,” he grunted.

“Snape, you have –“

“Enough of this.” Snape said coldly, standing up abruptly. He was doing up his buttons the next second.

“You have-“ Harry tried again but he was interrupted.

“I know!”

“No, listen –“

“I’ve heard enough!”

“No, Snape, you ha –“

“Shut up, Potter!” Snape shouted loudly.

“Severus, you have _scales_!” Harry bellowed just as loud while he jumped to his feet as well.

Snape froze. “I have _what_ now?”

“Scales!” Harry said, pointing at Snape’s mid-section. “Over your left side.”

With a quick jerk, Snape tore his shirt open. Like a dragon’s tail, there was an about seven-inch-wide stripe of green scale going from his hip bone towards his abdomen, then curving back towards his ribcage. It was getting slimmer the further up it went. Harry assumed it must have ended somewhere in the middle of Snape’s back.

Snape looked down on himself, then his eyes snapped at Harry. “Oh shit…” He hissed.

“You have Dragon pox.” Harry whispered.

Snape frowned. “Really, Potter?” He sneered. “What drew you to that conclusion?”


	4. Brewers Assemble

# Chapter Four: Brewers Assemble 

If it weren’t a sign of a horrible sickness, Harry would have thought the scales a beautiful adornment on Snape’s skin. Deep green, the colour of emerald they contrasted well against the milky whiteness that was Snape’s naked body. They shimmered in the light, changing colour, glimmering. The flames brought them a deep, rich golden hue, while shadows turned them an iridescent mix of turquoise and teal blue.

It was hard to understand the seriousness of the situation when all Harry wanted was to feel the slippery surface of the scales and let them guide his touch where they probably all started – a hidden area still covered by Snape’s slacks.

“You need to go to the Infirmary,” Harry said at last, forcibly tearing his eyes from the shimmery colours.

“And you need to come with me.” Replied Snape. “We’ve been in the same room for hours now.”

“Six feet away.”

“You think that was enough?”

Harry looked down on his body, tried to focus on himself, but he noticed nothing strange. “I feel fine.”

“Undress,” Snape commanded, and Harry’s eyes widened but he didn’t move. “ _Undress_ ,” Snape repeated, stressing that one word even more.

At last, slowly Harry’s body started to comply with the request. Fingers grasped into the edge of his shirt, and numb limbs lifted it over his head. In the meanwhile, Snape was watching. He wouldn’t have taken his eyes off Harry even if a troll burst through the door.

But no troll came, nothing in fact disturbed Harry stripping and once his shirt fell on the couch, he started unbuttoning his jeans and lowering the zipper. He was well aware that his pants weren’t very effective at hiding things in the first place, after all his body made sure anyone who looked at him would know how much he enjoyed Snape’s moan’s from earlier. However, removing them still felt uncomfortable, since beneath was nothing but tight black briefs barely masking the unmistakable evidence of his arousal.

He pushed his jeans down and they pooled around his ankles. He looked at Snape, who, with eyes now a definitely orange colour like a flickering flame, stared at his body unabashed.

“Snape, if you tell me to take these off as well, you’re going to have to deal with whatever’s underneath.” Harry warned. The shivers on his arm had nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

Snape swallowed hard, eyes still on Harry, who suspected Snape wasn’t admiring the design of his boxers.

“By Merlin, my resilience had been tested by the gods countless times in my life and it failed on occasion, but never so spectacularly as now.” He mumbled and forced his gaze up at Harry’s face. “I’ll bribe the Minster himself if I have to, but we must have the antidotes by tonight.”

“I’m afraid, we’ll have to wait a bit more than that.” Harry said. “So, do I have it?”

“What? The body of a god? Certainly. Scales? Not a single one. Which means, Potter, this mistake of ours might still be delayed by a couple days, however given the state of my mind, it won’t matter. I’ll have you.” Snape said darkly, eyes flashing, then as if embarrassed by his fervour, he cast his eyes down, his cheeks the colour of rosé wine. “Dress now please, if you don’t want me to drop dead. Although, a few more minutes of this and I might just cure myself of Dragon pox by sheer will.”

“If it’s any consolation, I want to behead whoever brought this disaster upon us, too.”

“Good idea,” Snape nodded, buttoning his shirt up too. “I hear murder is an excellent foreplay. Although, as it appears, even simple conversation with you has the desired effect.”

Once fully dressed, they stood face two face, six feet apart.

“You need to go.” Harry said. “Use the Floo, so you won’t meet anyone on the way.”

“What will you do?”

“Scream in frustration for a minute. Then, I’ll have a word with Kingsley.”

“Convince the Minister, Potter. You’re a favourite of his, he’ll listen to you. We need the antidote more than they do.”

“Of course. Who cares if the Wizarding word gets exposed? There are more important matters at hand.” Harry smiled.

“I’m glad you see my point.” Snape waved towards Harry’s mid-section. “Not that you could disagree.”

“Maybe I do see it, but Kingsley won’t for sure.”

Snape sighed. “I should go. At least I’ll have a chance to question Minerva about that bet you mentioned earlier, and your so-called affections towards me. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that.”

Harry smiled. “I did wonder if you listened.”

“Of course, I did. But did _you_? I told you yesterday what happens when desire’s gone, didn’t I?”

“Something about being left with a dim-witted fool, wasn’t it? Didn’t realize you meant yourself. But so be it. You’ll still have your looks, and I’ll have brains for the both of us.” Harry shrugged.

“Merlin help us… We’re doomed.” Snape sneered, but when he looked at Harry the fire was still there in his eyes, burning although quieter, a smoulder not a raging blaze. However, this could have been only a sign of the pox.

Snape’s lips curled into a half smile, but then to hide it, he quickly turned towards the fireplace.

He took a fistful of powder and threw it into the flames, which immediately turned green. He stepped into them, and they enveloped his body. “Goodbye for now, Mr. Potter.”

“Snape,” Harry called, before the man would vanish. “What would it take for us to brew the antidote ourselves?”

“Since we all know your abysmal capabilities regarding potion making, I assume you mean what it would take for _me_ to procure the necessary dosage. Well, a smaller mound of gold for once and preferably a month alone in a room without any disturbance.”

Harry paled. “Does it take so long for the potion to be made?” He gasped aghast.

“Yes. Not the potion per se, that can be done in a day, but the amount we require. You cannot work on more than one batch at a time since it’s an insanely flammable substance. Besides, given the price of dragon blood, you don’t want to mess it up either, so meticulous attention is advised.”

“Could you do it?”

“Could I? Yes. Would I? Out of the question. You forget, I’ll be breathing fire soon. Now, I’m more than happy to risk my own life to cure myself and grant us the well needed reward we both so clearly desire, but I cannot put the whole school in jeopardy.”

“Oh, I see.” Harry nodded. Hesitantly, he went on. “And what if… what if you just make one batch… just a tiny bit, enough for one person, perhaps?”

Snape smirked. “Ah, very selfish, Mr. Potter. A thought befitting even a Slytherin, I am proud to hear you suggest it. Don’t think the idea hasn't crossed my mind, but it would be pointless. The measures we’ve taken does not eliminate the chance of contracting the disease entirely, it merely lessens the possibility.”

Harry heaved a sigh. “In other words, if Kingsley doesn’t give us priority, we’re fucked.”

“Indeed, and not in the good sense.”

“Alright. I’ll let you leave now. I’ll check up on you later, Snape.”

“Check up on me? Surely not. Poppy won’t let you near the Infirmary. And as I said you can still catch the pox if you’re irresponsible.”

Harry just shrugged. “As for dear Poppy, I’d like to see her try. And a patch of scales won’t keep me from you, Snape.”

“Don’t make light of it, Potter. It’s a disease people die of.”

“Call me over-confident but I survived the Deadly Curse. Twice. What I won’t survive is waiting two weeks to see you again.”

Snape nodded, understanding. “Professor Potter, surprising it may be, yet it appears you echo my sentiments.” He said smirking, then, with a spin, vanished among the green flames.

o.O.o

“Harry, I’d give a limb for you, but I have two hundred wizards and witches breathing fire down my neck. I simply cannot allow Hogwarts to receive the antidotes. We need them more than you do.” Kingsley said, shaking his head sadly.

The Minister for Magic was sitting on the ground of his office, talking to Harry, whose head was currently surrounded by green flames.

“But… but… the children. Snape… and McGonagall. She’s too old.” Harry tried to argue.

“That pox will sooner vanish from the face of the Earth entirely than knock Minerva McGonagall off her feet, Harry. Don’t worry about her. As for the children, unless they have a serious sickness already, they should be fine, and if they do, you can send them to St. Mungo’s. Snape’s a tough man, too.”

“Well, aren’t your employees tough, too?” Harry whined.

“They are, but there’s two hundred of them. Half my Aurors have caught it, obliviators too, just when I have random wizards sneezing fire at Muggles on the street.”

Harry was out of arguments and he knew it. No matter how good a point ‘But I want to have sex with Snape’ made in his head, he understood it wasn’t going to convince Kingsley.

“I understand.” He sighed in the end. “Anyway, how are you?”

“Singed a few times by my secretary, but otherwise well, thank you,” answered the Minister. “Listen, Harry, I gave my best potioneers to the hospital. There are more hands working on the antidotes than there are cauldrons in England. We’ll get through this.”

“I know, I just wanted it to happen sooner rather than later.” Harry sighed. “Alright, I have to go. The Headmaster and Minerva sure would love to hear about your utter disregard towards their health.” Harry remarked with a sly smirk.

“That’s unfair!” Kingsley cried. “You know I do care about them.”

“Just kidding, Kingsley. I’ll give them your best.”

“I promise to send all these healers over to you once we’re cleared here.”

“Thanks, Kingsley. Hold on and stay safe.” Harry said, smiling.

“You, too.” Said the Minister with a nod.

Harry pulled his head from the fire, holding his breath until all the swirling soot was far from his face, then stood up and walked back into the green flames. “The Infirmary!” He called loudly and clearly.

After a second of spinning, he arrived at the bright room that now had been magically enlarged and sectioned off to fit all the children and adults that had been affected by the pox. There were a lot more of them now. Their numbers seemed to have risen over the afternoon from twelve to at least fifty, judging by the number of occupied beds, Harry had walked past.

House elves scurried around with ice buckets and cooling salves, to refill them, or to apply them on burned skins and fever heated chests. Some of the children were up and around, visiting each other, playing cards or wizarding chess on top of their beds. They were from mostly lower years, the older ones, seemed more affected by the pox and were bedridden. Harry recognized students from all houses. As it appeared the illness spread not knowing boundaries.

The teachers were kept in a separate section, mostly because adults were more affected by the pox than children. While none of the children seemed to have breathed fire, Harry heard a wild sneeze from beyond the segregated wall he was headed towards and the next second a large, red tongue of flame burst through the doorway.

Carefully, Harry approached the singed entrance.

“Terribly so- so- _Achoo_!” Another batch of fire erupted from Professor Slughorn, which Harry managed to evade just in time. “Ah, this is horrible. I set fire to my favourite tapestry this morning,” he complained. “Filch, that dear man, said he can restore it, but I’m afraid it might be beyond saving.”

Harry managed to catch Snape’s eyeroll and it seemed so did Minerva, because she chuckled softly. Unfortunately, it suddenly turned into a coughing fit, which brought up sparks from the professor’s lungs. The three other teachers around her seemed to have gotten used to such incidents, because they just leaned away, or lifted their books from the table. With a swish of his wand, Snape managed to move Minerva’s, too, off her lap before it would catch fire.

As Minerva swallowed a couple gulps of icy water, no doubt to still the burning in her throat, she finally noticed Harry, who still stood by the door, leaning against it.

“Oh no, have we lost you, too, Harry? How terrible,” She said. “Soon, the only subject that can still be taught will be Divination, simply because the children can stare into a ball of fog and see nothing all on their own.”

“Now, Minerva,” Slughorn chided her softly. “We can still count ourselves lucky that there are teachers left to take care of the children.”

“Oh, yes, Horace, _we_ are lucky. The children, however, are not, given the limited option.” She sneered, tongue sharp as always. “Come, sit, Harry. What stage are you? Firebreathers are near the wall, spark-spitters in this corner with me, or you can join Severus, who’s over by the window sill, _looming_.”

“I am not looming,” Snape hissed, slipping off his perch, “and Potter is not ill, so he better not take one more step inside this room.” His black eyes flashed at Harry. The glow faded from them, but it was still a frightening gesture.

“You’re not ill, Harry?” Minerva asked, worried. “You must be mad. What are you doing here then?”

Harry’s eyes flickered momentarily at Snape, but then he looked back at his old Head of House. “I bring news, although not good ones.” He told them about his conversation with Kingsley.

“No surprise, really.” Slughorn surmised, once Harry was finished.

He said something else, too, but Harry wasn’t listening. Snape was looking at him, and Harry felt drawn straight away. He almost started walking towards the man, but luckily an eyebrow shot up and Harry put his wandering foot down.

“If that’s all you came for, Harry, it is time for you to leave,” Minerva suggested, then looking at Snape, she added with a sly smile, “Unless there’s something else.”

“The professor is leaving,” Snape stated stiffly.

“No, he’s not.” Harry refused. “We need to do something.”

“What _we_ need to do,” Snape hissed, “Is to make sure the children will get the education they are to receive for as long as it is possible.”

“What then?” Harry asked simply.

“What do you mean _what then_?”

“What happens if we ran out of teachers? If all the teachers are in here, but not all the kids, what then? Hagrid can’t catch the pox, and neither can Filch, but that’s it. Will we close the school and send home the ones who are not yet ill, but might carry the disease? Or will we just let them wander around the castle?”

“You know, Severus, Harry does raise a good point.” Minerva noted. “What will we do?”

“Close the school of course.” Said Slughorn. “What else can we do? We cannot leave the children unattended, for sure.”

“And send home those, who might already carry the illness and let this spread even more? No. We need to figure out how we get the antidote. If not from St. Mungo’s then from somewhere else.” Harry told them.

“Any suggestion regarding who has about two hundred vials of antidotes for Dragon Pox? Unfortunately, my acquaintances deal mostly with poisons, not the opposite.”

Minerva glared at Snape, not appreciating the Death Eater humour, but Harry snorted. He caught Snape’s gaze, whose lips were curling, too, on one corner.

“Don’t you, by any chance, have friends who deal with dragon blood?” Harry asked. His voice was innocent, but he had a teasing smile now, too.

“Actually, I do. There’s even a chance they are not in Azkaban at the moment.”

“Gentlemen, please! Will you take this seriously?” Minerva scolded them but Harry ignored her.

“Wait, for real?” He asked.

Snape rolled his eyes. “Potter, when your social circle overlaps with the Dark Lord’s, you meet all sorts of people. Trust me, selling expensive ingredients isn’t among the more offensive traits some of my formal acquaintances proclaims.”

“Can you get us some?” Harry asked carefully.

“What, dragon blood?” Snape snapped, surprised. “What do you want to do with it? Pour it over yourself? It doesn’t cure Dragon pox on its own.”

“Can you, or can you not get the dragon blood?” Harry demanded again, this time with more urgency.

“Yes, yes, I can, if you can produce the gold for it, but I still don’t see –“

“We’ll make the antidote ourselves.” Harry said with a triumphant smile.

Snape sighed. “I told you before, alone I cannot – “

“Not you, Snape. _We_. You said making the antidote doesn’t take long, you just need to pay attention and you can’t work on more than one at the same time.” Harry turned to Slughorn, “How many N.E.W.T.s students do you have at the moment?”

“Fifteen,” Horace said slowly, finally understanding what Harry wanted to do. “But I can give you a few more names from among the sixth years that are equally good.”

“That’s what, twenty batches already.” Harry counted aloud. “Kingsley said he gave St. Mungo’s his best potioneers. We’ll do the same, take all the help we can get. Hermione and Luna, the twins, that’s four more batch.”

“Aberforth, and maybe a couple more people from the village surely can help us.” Minerva suggested now all hopeful. “I know at least five who know their way around a cauldron and Rosmerta is a master distiller, I’m sure she has the skills to help.”

“Luna Lovegood and the woman who brews _whiskey_ for a hundred people in north-Scotland are _not_ the ones I would prefer to allow near any volatile potions, much less one that is supposed to cure us and not kill us all.” Snape objected. “Not that I don’t appreciate the idea, Potter.”

“Luna brews potions for a living. Weird ones, mind you, but people buy it, and no one died. Yet.” Harry said.

“And Rosmerta’s whiskey is better than that weak stuff Ogden sells. Horace, you taught her, what do you say?”

“Oh, she was good,” Slughorn nodded. “I’d trust her capabilities.”

“And who’s going to tell all these people, who have never made the antidote for Dragon pox before in their entire life, what to do?” Snape asked, folding his hands across his chest. “Will it be you, Mr Potter, or perhaps, Miss Lovegood will explain the intricacies of a highly dangerous tonic which, with only a single wrong move can blow off the brewer’s head?”

“Me? Hell no. What do I know of potions?” Harry laughed. “No, Snape, it will be you.”

“You’ve seen my scales Potter, or have you already forgotten? I am ill and I cannot go near the cauldrons.”

“You don’t even have to. In my sixth year I made a batch of Draught of Living Death, that was so perfect, it earned me a vial of Felix Felicis. _Me_ , Snape. And all I needed was to follow _your_ recipe.”

Snape didn’t have to ask if it was true, he knew at that time that Harry was using his book, even if he didn’t realize Harry’s sudden potion successes, too, came from that, not just the dark spells.

“You’ve been one of my brightest students, Severus.” Slughorn noted softly. “You instinctively know how to tweak potions to make them better, more effective.”

Regardless of the compliment, the black eyes bore into Harry not the resident Potion Master. Harry waited for any objection, any kind of remark, or argument but none came. Snape seemed to have thought it through for a long minute, then he nodded.

“And the gold?” Minerva asked.

“I can take care of that.” Harry offered.

“That won’t be necessary. We have a whole Board of Governors, all with deep pockets. They will want to have their children cured at all costs. I’ll write the letter, and the recipe, while you gather the people.”

Harry beamed. “Yes, Headmaster.”

“And Potter, make sure to clean the cauldrons at least two times, and place them at least ten feet away. The blast radius, if it occurs, shouldn’t be larger than eight, so it won’t set off a chain reaction. You’ll need to use multiple rooms, and they all need to be heated at least to twenty-five degrees Celsius before you even start the potion. Same with the cauldron and the blood. The temperature of the dragon blood is not to reach below twenty degrees throughout the process, or it will lose its use to us.”

“Fourth and fifth years can handle the set up, I think.” Harry nodded. “I’ll send Hedwig here, so you can write to your shady friend about the blood. I’ll handle the Governors, then come back when I have everyone here.”

“No, you won’t.” Snape said, then in a softer voice, he added, “I don’t want to see you here. Nothing, I repeat _nothing_ , is worth the risk of you catching the illness.” His tone told Harry there was no place for objection.

Obediently, Harry nodded again. “I’ll send a house elf then.” With that, he was about to leave, but Minerva raised her hand.

“Hold on,” she said with a bright voice. “I do have one question left.” She looked at Snape before she went on. “Severus, where do you have scales?”

Though surprised by the question, Snape still answered. “All over my left side,” he said indicating with his hand the affected part of his abdomen and the area under his ribs.

“And when exactly did Professor Potter see your left side?”

Everyone ducked their heads, trying to hide their chuckles, only Minerva kept staring challengingly at Snape, who screwed up his face and sneered, “Hush, you evil woman!”

Laughing, too, Harry left before the attention would focus on him.

o.O.o

It took all afternoon to reach out to everyone. After so many letters sent and received, by dinner time, Harry’s tired eyes ticked every time an owl flew towards his direction.

It took the Board a little convincing to pay all the gold Snape’s dealer asked for. Luckily, after learning about their plan, Kingsley offered his help, too, and sent out a few apologetic letters for hoarding all the antidotes, while making hazy remarks about his hopes that this situation would not last _months_. That frightened everyone enough to listen and Harry managed to convince them that it is in their best interest as well to have their children not suffer through this horrible illness any longer than they need to.

So, in the end, the Governors bowed their heads, reaching into the endless depth of their pockets and producing the necessary gold. All they needed now was the blood and the people who would brew the potion. Snape handled the first and, thankfully, Harry had help with the latter. Ron and Hermione, feeling still slightly guilty about the misaddressed letter, were more than eager to help, sending out owls to all their friends who were good with potions. Soon, with the people from Hogsmeade too, they had almost fourty volunteers all ready to crouch over an incredibly difficult and dangerous potion for hours, risking life and limb to help the children and, unknowingly, Harry’s love life, too.

The dragon blood arrived way sooner than Harry had anticipated, making him think that maybe Snape, too, applied some pressure on his contact, or emphasized the urgency of the issue. Hogwarts welcomed its helpers with a delicious meal, then after dinner, the food was vanished from the Main Hall and cauldrons were set on the tables exactly ten feet apart, as Snape requested.

Other rooms nearby, preheated earlier, were arranged in a similar manner. Professors walked between cauldrons, with a slight shimmer on their forehead from the heat, measuring tape following their wake as they checked and re-checked distances in order to prevent any disaster.

By eight o’clock, everything was set, all ingredients laid out, and everyone ready. Harry and Ron where lingering around Hermione’s cauldron with Luna and the twins occupying nearby spots. 

“It’s interesting,” Hermine noted as she studied the recipe Snape had provided them previously. "I checked the original formula earlier, of course, but there was no mention of dandelion root.”

Ron peaked over her shoulder. “I suppose this is Snape’s version, innit. I never could read that scrawl.”

“Isn’t it dangerous to use an altered version?” Hermione asked aloud.

Harry shook his head. “Beats me. He swears this will work, and work better mind you. Supposed to act faster. Kingsley got us a copy of the original recipe too, if you want that.” Harry offered.

Hermione bit her lips, contemplating it for a moment, then shook her head. “No. The Half-Blood Prince recipes were, undoubtedly, always better than the original. And, easier to make, too.” She said with a shrewd side-glance at Harry.

Harry grinned at the insinuation. “I won’t deny it. All my success in Potions came from the Prince. Which is why I don’t even dare attempt this.”

A young girl approached them with a Prefect badge glinting brightly on her chest. “Professor Potter,” she called as she came near. She let out a nervous whimper when she noticed Hermione and Ron. “We-we’re all set up.”

“Thank you, Eloise.” Harry said. “Please go and tell the other professor to go through the safety measures once more before they allow anyone to start brewing.”

“Yes, Sir.” She said, then with one last glance at the other two war heroes, she dashed away.

“Blimey, it’s so weird that they call you sir.” Ron said, looking after the girl, then turned back to Harry. “I heard the safety measures a million times already and I’m not even brewing. Do we really need to listen to it again?”

Harry nodded. “Look, nothing can go wrong. I can’t go through another day without Snape, less alone a whole week or two, if we mess this up. For this once, I’m going to say, we’re better safe than sorry.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Harry, for once in your life you’re doing the right thing, for all the wrong reasons.” She chuckled.

“That hard, is it?” Ron snickered, leaning closer to Harry so Hermione wouldn’t hear him.

Harry just gave him a solemn nod, then cleared his throat. “Hello everyone!” He called and the general murmur of the Hall got silenced immediately. Heads turned his way listening to him speak. “First of all, thank you all for coming and lending Hogwarts your talents. As it’d been said before, the dragon blood you are to handle is highly flammable, but needs to be kept warm in order to remain useful. I’d like to ask everyone to follow one of the recipes that were provided, or face Professor Snape’s wrath.” He said with a smile and sniggers could be heard across the room. Harry ignored them and went on. “I’d like to remind everyone that in case a cauldron explodes there are highly trained –“

“Yes, we know! You’ll save us.” Fred Weasley shouted at Harry then turned towards the crowd. “What he means is, whatever happens, people, stay in your spot, don’t panic, and don’t even dare think about letting all this dragon blood go to waste. Got it?” There was an answering rumble throughout the Hall, so Fred nodded. “Good. Then let’s begin. Yeah, Harry?”

“Begin,” Harry assented, too. 


End file.
